The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(93)

Speaking of which . . .

“I should clean up before dinner,” Andrew said.

“Go on up to your room,” Billie said. “I’ll see about having a bath drawn.”

“I am not certain I can adequately express how heavenly that sounds.”

“Go,” Billie said with a smile. “I will see you at dinner.”

A good meal, a good sleep , Andrew thought as he headed upstairs. It was exactly what he needed before heading out in the morning for a good woman.

His good woman.

His Poppy.



“Darling, are you sure you’re feeling well enough for dinner?”

Poppy turned to Lady Bridgerton, grateful that the dim lighting in the carriage prevented the older woman from seeing just how wan her smile was. “I’m well, Aunt,” she said. “Just tired.”

“I cannot imagine why. We have done nothing requiring any great exertions recently, have we?”

“Poppy took a walk today,” Georgie said. “A really, really long one.”

Poppy looked at her cousin with surprise. Georgie knew quite well that Poppy had not taken a long walk that day. She’d barely made it to the far end of the garden.

“I did not realize that,” Lady Bridgerton said. “I do hope you were not caught out in the rain.”

“No, I was most fortunate,” Poppy said. It had begun to rain about an hour after she and Georgie returned to Aubrey Hall. Just a sprinkle at first, but it had been growing in intensity ever since. The smack of the drops against the carriage was almost too loud for conversation.

“Helen will have footmen waiting with umbrellas,” Lady Bridgerton assured her. “We will not get very wet going from carriage to house.”

“Will Edmund and Violet be there?” Georgie asked.

“I’m not sure,” her mother replied. “Violet is getting very near to the end of her confinement. I imagine it depends on how she feels.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Georgie said. “She loves being pregnant.”

“Have they thought of a name?” Poppy asked. Her cousin Edmund had married quite young—he was barely nineteen at his wedding. But he and his bride were wildly happy by all accounts and currently expecting their second child. They lived quite close to Aubrey Hall, in a charming manor house given to them as a wedding gift from Edmund’s parents.

“Benedict if it’s a boy,” Lady Bridgerton said. “Beatrice for a girl.”

“How very Shakespearean,” Poppy murmured. Benedick and Beatrice were the lovers from Much Ado About Nothing . She’d quoted Balthasar’s song from that very play when she and Andrew had had their battle of the Shakespearean quotes.

It was ridiculous how much fun that had been.

“Benedict ,” Georgie said. “Not Benedick.”

“Sigh no more,” Poppy murmured. “Sigh no more.”

Georgie gave her a sideways glance. “Men were deceivers ever?”

“Not all men,” came a grumble from the opposite corner.

Poppy jerked with surprise. She’d quite forgotten Lord Bridgerton was there.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Lady Bridgerton said, patting her husband on the knee.

“I was,” he said with a hmmph . “I’d like to be still.”

“We were so very loud, Uncle?” Poppy inquired. “I’m sorry that we woke you.”

“It’s just the rain,” he said, waving away her apology. “Makes my joints ache. Was that Shakespeare you were reciting?”

“From Much Ado About Nothing ,” Poppy said.

“Well . . .” He rolled his hand in the air, urging her on. “Have at it.”

“You want me to recite it?”

He looked at Georgie. “Do you know it?”

“Not in its entirety,” she admitted.

“Then yes,” he said, turning back to Poppy. “I want you to recite it.”

“Very well.” She swallowed, trying to melt the lump that had started to form in her throat.

“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea— ” Her voice caught. Choked.

What had happened to him? Would she ever know?

“Poppy?” Her aunt leaned forward, concerned.

Poppy stared into space.

“Poppy? ”

She lurched back to attention. “Sorry. I was just, er . . . remembering something.” She cleared her throat. “One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never .”

“Men are flighty creatures,” Lady Bridgerton said.

“Not all men,” her husband said.

“Darling, no ,” she said. “Just no.”

“Then sigh not so, but let them go ,” Poppy continued, barely hearing the conversation around her. “And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe . . . ”

Would Shakespeare always make her think of Andrew? Would everything make her think of him?

“Into Hey nonny, nonny ,” Georgie finished for her. She gave Poppy a queer look before turning to her father. “I knew that part.”

He yawned and closed his eyes.

“He always falls asleep in carriages,” Georgie said.